The Storm
by Hatethesilence312
Summary: Sheriff Stilinski is working late, Scott is with Allison, and Stiles is having a panic attack. Who is there to take care of him? Sterek. May be slightly out of character, this is my first fic for this fandom, so be nice. Slightly fluffy. May be continued if requested.


**A/N: Hello readers! Since I finished my Divergent fic, and haven't started the Insurgent one yet, I know I have been slacking with this account. I've been reading a lot of sterek fanfiction again recently, and this idea hit my last night and it hasn't gotten out of my head since, so here goes nothing.**

**Please keep in mind that this is the first fanfic like this I have ever done. I have never written from the perspective of a twenty-something year old possibly gay werewolf man before, so this is all new for me.**

Derek's POV

The Storm

"What, exactly, are you doing here anyway?"

About half an hour ago, Stiles had appeared on my doorstep, drenched in rainwater and shivering. We were having the worst storm in a long time. He'd proceeded to barge into my house and sit down on my floor and begin talking my ear off.

He looked at the puddle he had created on the floor and I could tell he was running his tongue over his teeth. "My dad has to work overtime tonight. Something about wrapping a case up," He shrugs. "Scott is with Allison. And while I don't mind being home alone, the electricity went out and that was my only source of entertainment, so..."

"So you decided you would come annoy me?"

Stiles pushed his lips together and looked away, avoiding my gaze. "I could leave, I guess, if I am really bothering you. Only half the street lights are out, I can probably make it home okay."

I sighed. He was being overdramatic, I knew that, but there was something different about him tonight that made me nervous. Was he upset that Scott appeared to be ditching him? Was it Lydia? Was he still upset that she and Jackson were together?

"You can crash on the couch. Scott would never forgive me if you died in a car crash because I kicked you out in a storm."

His lips twisted up a little bit, but not enough, something was still wrong. "Thanks, Derek. I'll leave my dad a voicemail telling him I'm at Scott's. I'll tell Scott where I really am in case—"

"What?"

Stiles' jaw clenched shut. "I don't know. In case hunters decide to come kidnap us or something," He shrugged.

His heart beat stuttered. He lied to me. He _never _lies to me. Betrayal and anger flooded through me.

"Okay," I said with a voice colder than normal. "Lie to me, then. Enjoy the couch. I don't have spare blankets. I'll see you in the morning."

"'Night Derek," He mumbled.

I listened to him dial on his cell phone as I headed up my stairs. The Sheriff's phone went straight to voicemail.

"Hey, Dad, it's me. I'm fine and I am spending the night at Scott's. I'll call you in the morning. Love you." The line clicked off and then he was dialing again.

"Scott. I'm at Derek's. If my dad calls, I am fine and asleep and I'll be home tomorrow morning."

I felt myself blink. Stiles was radiating anger. It _was _something with Scott. I began brushing my teeth.

Scott and Allison had been inseparable recently. The ground had finally smoothed over, and now the Argents don't have a problem with their relationship, so Scott has barely left their house. This left Stiles alone.

But he wasn't _actually _alone. He began coming to my house almost every day. At first, I kicked him out almost immediately. Later, though, I began adjusting to his company. It was expected.

The kid was starting to smell like me, and my house like him. It was strange. He spent more time here than any member of the pack. It was becoming routine. To make matters even more bizarre, even when he's not around, he's still _here. _Sure, his scent lingers, but I often find myself thinking about him after he's gone. He gets under my skin like no one else ever could.

It was all very strange. Never in my life had I been attracted to men. It just never really happened. But Stiles was different. His heartbeat is the most important sound in my world, and when he's not here, I find myself missing it, missing _him._

Strange.

The steady heartbeat downstairs suddenly lurched and took off faster. I froze as I rinsed my toothbrush and walked slowly to my room. I searched the area, trying to find any source of danger, and reason for his heart to race with fear, but there was no threat to be found.

Thunder suddenly cracked, and I was horrified to find his breathing now labored.

Lightning flashed, filling my bedroom with a white light. And then he stopped breathing all together and a small choking sound came out of him.

By the time the sound cut off, I was down the stairs and moving toward him. "Stiles?"

He was curled up on my floor, still drenched, face pale, rocking back and forth and gagging, his one hand pressed to his chest.

"Stiles! Stiles, what's wrong?" I got to my knees beside him. "Stiles!" I caught his shoulders as he rocked. He trembled under my hands.

"D-d-d-"

"What is _happening?" _

He reached for me, his fingers wrapping around my biceps, fingers pressing into my skin firmly enough that it would have hurt a normal human. He yanked in a gasping breath and stuttered, "p-p-panic at-t-t-tack."

Well, shit. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Distract me," He managed.

The next peel of thunder cracked across the sky and shook the house. Stiles flinched, his nails biting furiously into my arms as he cringed into my chest.

And then he fell limply into my arms as his body jerked. _"Stiles!" _ I began trying to pin him down as his body twitched and jerked. My hand touched his head and I was horrified by the feverish heat of his skin.

After a moment, the spasms died down and he swallowed thickly. "'S no big deal," He slurred, breathing in short gasps.

I tore myself from his grasp and sprinted to the kitchen, returning with a bottle of water as fast as possible. "You should probably drink something, right?"

"Might make me sick," He warned, but he took a small sip anyway. His words were slightly less strangled when he continued. "Need to get away from the storm. You have a basement?"

I nodded and took the bottle from him, closing it and jamming it roughly into the pocket of my jeans. I took his arms and carefully pulled him up. "Can you walk?"

He nodded and I began leading him toward the staircase leading to my basement. His legs trembled and his knees buckled once as we walked. I carried most of his weight.

"Can you do stairs?"

He nodded again, but I did not believe him at all. I let him attempt the first stair, but his knees buckled immediately and I caught him, looping my arms around his chest. I sighed and took all his weight up into my arms and I practically dragged him down the stairs.

The basement wasn't somewhere I liked to spend time—it smelled too strongly of blood and metal from chaining myself here on full moons.

I sat down on the floor and pulled him down. His heart was still beating way too fast, his breathing still labored, but he seemed less ... ill. He took another sip of water. He began taking deep breaths, in and out, repeatedly, for several minutes. I counted, and he was noticeably forcing each breath to be even.

"Sorry." He said eventually.

"Sorry? Stiles, what the hell just happened?"

He pressed a hand to his chest. "I had a panic attack, I—it's not the first time."

"You're afraid of thunder storms." I did not say it in a condescending way, just stating a fact.

"Not really, not anymore," He took another swig from the bottle. "My dad told me I used to be antsy during them, and my mom would sing to me. Then she died, and _antsy _was an understatement. At first, I'd just cry. My dad didn't know what to sing or how and he used to just let it happen. I got a little older, and the panic attacks set in. Every time there has been a bad storm, Scott has come over and given me his inhaler and provided a lot of distractions."

"He didn't come tonight."

"No. He didn't."

A sudden crack of thunder sounded and he cringed, his breathing speeding. "I need you to distract me, Derek. Now, please, please," The teenager look at me with such horror and _need _in his eyes that I felt myself begin to panic.

"I don't know! I am going _kill _Scott! He's a fu—"

Stiles began choking and I realized I was doing a terrible job.

"Oh, no, oh, oh, Stiles, breathe, um, here, have a drink."

He didn't listen. His pleading gaze met mine and I found myself absolutely freaking out.

Stiles needed to stop thinking. Hell, _I _needed to stop thinking. I reached forward and caught the back of his head, pulling him forward and slamming my lips onto his.

The second I realized what I did, I stiffened and pulled away. "I'm sorry, I—"

Stiles' face was priceless, his eyes wide, his lips parted, his cheeks flushed.

And I'm positive I looked the same. For a long minute, we just stared at each other.

"That didn't happen," I said finally. "What does _Scott _do to distract you?"

"Not that," Stiles said breathlessly. "Just...talk to me."

I chewed on my lip for a second. "Can I talk about Scott? What about how I am going to _kill _him for leaving you alone like this?"

Stiles nodded, forcing a sip of water down although he looked like he might vomit.

"You _did _call him right?"

Stiles nodded again. "The first time he rejected my call and texted me telling me he was busy. _Not now, _like panic attacks can wait! And then he turned his phone off. I left him about six messages mid-attack before coming here."

I blinked and then was full of anger. "You were having a panic attack when you drove yourself here? Are you an _idiot? _You could have died! Why didn't you call someone else?"

"My dad keeps his phone off at work."

"Why didn't you call a friend?"

"I called Scott. I don't have other friends."

I closed my eyes. "That isn't true."

"Lydia and Jackson hate me. The last time I tried to go to one of their houses, they hid, leaving their cars parked where I could see them, they shut all the house lights off and hid."

I am not a sympathetic person, but my chest still ached for Stiles.

"Screw them," I said flatly. "They're asses."

"Can you do me a favor? How bad do you think this fever is?"

I reached out and pressed my palm to his forehead, trying to judge. "I don't know. It seems pretty high..."

"But it's not, like, brain damage high?"

"I sure as hell hope not."

"This attack is a lot worse than it has been the last few times. I haven't had a seizure in years."

That ignited more anger in me. "Do you _realize _that you could have had a seizure while _driving _your damned jeep up here?"

"I had to come here. You don't realize how much worse it is when I am alone. You were the only one I trusted to actually care."

"A lot of people care about you, Stiles."

He just shrugged and took a sip of water. I touched his hand. "I'm serious."

"Thanks. You suck at distractions."

"Your heart is evening out."

He took another sip. "It's the basement." He looked around, eyeing the manacles on the wall and the heavy chains across the floor. "Do you use this for what I think you this for?"

I nodded.

"What is that like—the change?"

I didn't want to talk about it, but I knew I had to distract him. So for the next few minutes, I described exactly what happens on a full moon. By the time I was done, his heart rate was normal, his breathing even, and his eyes full of only fascination.

He finished off the water bottle and massaged his forehead. "Man, this headache is killer."

"Do you want to try going to sleep?" I offered. "If you seem like you're getting bad again, I'll get more water and wake you up."

He smiled softly and then surprised me, leaning over to rest his head against my shoulder.

"Derek?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

"I'm just glad you're okay."

He let out a weak laugh. "Look at you, Sourwolf, getting all soft on me."

I growled, low in my throat. "Don't make me throw you into that wall."

Stiles laughed and relaxed into me, his hands curling around my arm as he drifted to sleep.

He didn't have another panic attack that night. I spent several hours lost in thought. Why was it my reflex reaction to _kiss _him? Stiles is my barely even my friend.

I was going to kill Scott.


End file.
